


Presenting Dean Winchester

by Fledhyris



Series: Omega Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (apart from the obvious), (he could be better but at least he's trying), Alpha John Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Brotherly Bonding, Canon Universe, Dean Smells Like Apple Pie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family History, Fluff and Angst, Gen, John is not a bad parent, No Wincest - Sam is 11, Omega Dean Winchester, Pheromones, Stuck In A Room Together For Days, first heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 16:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19066648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Sam's vivid memories of the time when Dean first presented as omega (at 15). Sam looks after Dean as he goes through his first heat, while John (an alpha) stays well out of the way. Dean tries to explain what's going on to his kid brother without dying of shame or scarring Sam for life. Intimations that Sam will later present as alpha. Some lore/history of the dynamic, dealt with in natural conversation, and my own twist on ABO 'traditions'. A lot of focus on pheromones and how Dean smells, because it's important to their later relationship. Intended to be caring, character affirming, and hinting just a little of the problems omegas face in a largely real-life society. Not a social dystopia, but not a walk in the park either. This is not Weecest but does obliquely address the beginning of what develops between them. Actual Wincest doesn't occur until season 3, when they're fully consenting adults.





	1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, Sam thinks Dad must have suspected even before Dean Presented; or if he didn’t, the man was engaging in some serious denial. Dean has always been the dutiful son, the good little soldier, and when you think about it, extraordinarily adept at looking after his little brother. Compare that to Sam’s rebellious independence, clashing with Dad more and more the closer he grew to his own Presentation. Maybe Dad was just clinging to hope, and the usual misguided stereotypes; how could his strong, athletic prodigy of a son possibly turn out to be one of _them_? He’d have been more likely to suspect Sam, the gentler son, the one who didn’t want to hunt, the one who came late into his growth, for all his indomitable temperament. More likely, Dad just assumed Sam was Typical. Like Dean had.

Dean first Presented when he was fifteen, which made Sam eleven, his academic understanding well in advance of his instinctive, physical connection to the complexities of gender and sex. At the time, he didn’t really get what was going on, the puzzle pieces all slotting together later like a train of dominoes; but he will never forget the moment it started, his brother’s misery and his father’s shock seared on his memory like a branding.

They were driving, between hunts or possibly just after closing one; that part’s hazy, irrelevant to the event. Dean seemed unusually quiet, subdued yet almost skittish; Sam figured he must have done something wrong and was waiting for Dad to find out. It wouldn’t take long; for all that sometimes John seemed to ignore them, nothing much escaped him when he was paying attention. From the back seat, Sam could see how Dad kept glancing over at Dean, frowning slightly, clearly picking up on his mood. Dean was just as clearly avoiding looking at their father. Sam braced himself for the inevitable storm, feeling sympathy for Dean, but glad for once that he wasn’t the one in the spotlight.

What Sam didn’t pick up on at the time (he analysed the memories later, in excruciating detail) was that Dad was sniffing; scenting something indefinably off about his older son. Fortunately, the first few heats were never very strong, and they started slow; otherwise just about every Omega would end up being raped by his own parent (not that it didn’t ever happen, Sam was well aware) so most families had time to adjust, to prepare accordingly after the bombshell hit.

Suddenly, Dad pulled the car over to the verge and just sat there, staring at Dean. Breathing (scenting) in an oddly intent way that made Sam wonder if he was trying to control his temper, and worry about what it was Dean had done.

“Son, step out of the car a moment,” Dad said quietly to Dean. Dean gulped, ducking his head, and did as he was told, standing forlornly at the side of the car as though awaiting punishment.

Dad came around in front of the car, took hold of Dean’s shoulder and steered him, firmly but gently, away out of earshot of their inquisitive passenger. It didn’t matter what they were saying. Dean looked after Sam and he idolised his brother in return, and was never around in one place long enough to make real friends. His focus was always on Dean, he tried to model himself on him, he could read the subtlest of his moods or gestures like a book.

Dad put both his hands on Dean’s shoulders and leaned close, as though kissing his cheek (getting a good noseful of the pheromones he had begun to give off). Dean seemed to fold in on himself and Sam could see the shame, the anger and the fear; the downright _despair_ in his tightly schooled expression, the rigid posture, the bowed head and hunched shoulders. It was clear to him that Dean was fighting not to cry, and he never cried around their father. Something had to be really wrong.

But then, Dad was patting Dean’s shoulder; actually pulled him into a brief, awkward hug, and Dad was never demonstrative like that, oh God, was Dean hurt, was he _dying_ or something? Sam’s heart leapt into his chest, fluttering like a trapped bird.

Some more conversation, Dean’s inaudible answers monosyllabic. Yes sir, no sir. Dad’s hand still on his arm, rubbing comfortingly. Sam knew it would be having the opposite effect, like it was on him, the unusual display of affection just serving to heighten Dean’s insecurity. Eventually, Dad gave up, dropped his hand (Sam mentally inserted the frustrated sigh) paused a moment longer then made his way back to the car.

Dad was even better at schooling his expressions than Dean, and Sam didn’t spend nearly as much time trying to analyse him, but he could tell he wasn’t angry. He also wasn’t disappointed. Sam clutches to this impression long after everything has happened, after Stanford, after Dad’s sacrifice. Whatever else John may have felt on first scenting that his treasured eldest son was an Omega, it wasn’t disgust. Resignation, maybe, and concern, for sure. Regret, perhaps, a little; if for no other reason than that he could never hope for grandchildren from this quarter. Omegas were invariably infertile, considered an evolutionary dead-end; an unfortunate mutation of the Alpha genetics prized in so many bloodlines, a double recessive resulting only from Alpha to Alpha mating.

At the time, Sam didn’t know much at all other than that Omegas existed; a rare, secret, somehow shameful third gender, now treated (legally, at least) as equals with the rest of society, but theory frequently outstripped practice. He just knew that something was wrong with Dean, and that their father wasn’t mad about it, although clearly Dean himself felt ready to die from shame. Knowing his brother so well, he held his tongue when Dean finally, slowly forced himself back into the car, slumping against the door to huddle miserably as far from Dad as he could get in the confined space. Getting back into the front of the car at all was simply down to the vestiges of his tattered pride, Sam knew it; refusing to cede his place unless and until John demanded it. He did not.

The rest of the journey was fraught with tension. Now, Sam knows, the car must have been awash with pheromones, John and Dean responding to one another in an excruciating feedback loop of repressed desire; himself, oblivious, but not unaffected. Children, like Typicals, cannot consciously distinguish the subtler scents of Alpha and Omega hormones, especially from a distance, but they still register on some primal level; and quite possibly more strongly when the child in question will Present themselves some day. Add to this the emotional fallout, the strained silence, Sam’s curiosity and worry gnawing at his insides. It felt like one of the longest trips he had ever endured, though it couldn’t have been more than an hour or two in fact, before they pulled up at the first motel Dad found. Correction: the first moderately sized and decent looking motel. They had stayed frequently at seedier dumps, but John clearly had enough sense not to risk his now vulnerable firstborn at one of those places.

He hesitated in the parking lot, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Dean,” he asked quietly, “do you want to be alone, or would you like to room with your brother?”

Sam was shocked. What kind of question was that, when would Dean ever abandon him like that, or he Dean? And what about Dad; was he leaving already? Because of Dean? To go find a cure for whatever awful sickness had his brother in its grip, Sam assumed. He was starting to worry it might be something supernatural, witchcraft, or poison, or a curse. Maybe Dean had been careless, and that was why he felt so ashamed. 

Dean took far too long to answer in Sam’s opinion, eventually muttering a barely audible “Stay with Sammy.” It’s another point in Dad’s favour that he allowed it, that he even had the empathy to ask; again something Sam has come to understand with hindsight. Heats are not pretty, first heats less intense but no less embarrassing for that, scary and bewildering in their novelty. Dean could have been excused for wanting to hide away; it said a great deal about his bond with Sam, or maybe just his need for the comfort and reassurance of a familiar presence, that he chose to keep him near.

Dad, it turned out, wasn’t leaving; but he booked himself a separate room, some way down the line of identikit prefabs. He pulled Sam aside for a moment, struggling to find explanations, as Dean let himself into their new room; and that was new in itself, that Dad would concern himself with any explanation at all.

“Sam, look out for your brother,” he said eventually.

“Is Dean sick?” Sam asked, wide eyed, fear trembling in his chest.

“No; no, he’s not sick. He’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with him.” A shade too heartily for Sam not to suspect. He thinks, again with the clarity of hindsight, that Dad was attempting to reassure himself more than his younger son. 

“But he’s… he’s going through some changes, growing up – it’s complicated. Nothing to worry about. But he’ll have to spend some time in the room, just a couple of days. He can’t… he mustn’t leave. Sam, keep an eye on him, and come let me know if… if he needs anything, okay? And especially if he goes out. Try and stop him, if he tries that, if you can; but if you can’t, come get me, straight away. I’ll sort it out. And don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll be right here, the whole time, just a few rooms down.”

Like all that would have prevented Sam from worrying. He didn’t stop to ask his father any useless questions though; he was desperate to go to his brother.

Dean was sitting on one of the beds, still hunched up, his clenched fists balling the covers to either side. He looked pale and beyond unhappy, but Sam still remembers how brightly his eyes seemed to shine in the dim room, against the whiteness of his face, as he looked up at Sam’s entry. For some reason, it was the first time Sam had really paid attention to the colour of his brother’s eyes. Green, he remembers thinking, his eyes are so green. Like grass in spring. It was the pheromones, probably, heightening his own perception; combined with the intensification of colour which accompanies a heat, and the reflective moisture of unshed tears.

“Dean...” he started, unsure of what to say. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice was small and tight, giving the lie to everything he said. “I’m – I will be. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Does… does it hurt?” Sam asked, all innocence, not having the least idea what Dean was going through.

“What? No, it doesn’t hurt.” Dean flashed him a panicked glance; must have wondered how much Dad had told him, if he knew the awful, shameful truth. What he saw in Sam’s face must have reassured him, he relaxed slightly; looked away, back down at the bed.

“Dad said...” Even at that age, Sam was the one to fill in awkward silences with conversation, always questing for the truth. “He said you were growing up. Is this what it’s like, is it… will it happen to me?”

Dean huffed out a pained laugh. “God, I hope not. No; no, it won’t. Two of us in the same family… what’d be the odds?”

Sam frowned. Two of… what? They were both boys; what other distinctions were there to make? Was Dean… gay? That didn’t fit; Dean always talked about girls, not guys. And from everything Sam had heard, being gay was a choice – or well, maybe not a choice, something you had no control over, but it wasn’t a physical thing; it just determined who you fell in love with. No reason for that to suddenly affect Dean like he’d come down with something, and startle their father’s suspicions during a perfectly ordinary car journey.

Growing up. What happened when you grew up? You went through changes, he knew about that, about puberty, about starting to like girls (or boys). He thought hard about the fragmented sex ed he’d received at school. There was a third gender, wasn’t there. Some people; not many, it wasn’t common; had extra sexual characteristics. Alphas, they called them. They were like a super-sex, the strongest and best looking and most desirable partners. People often thought that superstars and models and famous sports personalities must all be Alphas, although his teacher had stressed that wasn’t the case, that Typicals could be just as fit, just as good looking. But it wasn’t another gender, not really; both men and women could be Alphas, and they could have kids with anyone, either each other or Typicals. But there was something else to do with Alpha genetics… something they’d barely touched on in the class, skimming over it like a necessary, but distasteful and not terribly relevant fact. 

Omegas. He’d learned more about them through school yard taunts and rumours. Sometimes, very rarely, an Alpha came out… wrong. Grew up into something else, something society shunned, or abused. He wasn’t very sure why, knew it had something to do with sex; his teacher had primly skirted the details, it wasn’t a fitting subject for kids his age. The primary circulating ‘fact’ among his peers was that an Omega was a slut, worse than whores, worse than gays. They’d do it with anyone, anywhere, in the middle of the street if you gave them half an excuse. And they were always male. Pedos, half of them, they had no moral compass whatsoever. They’d sleep with animals, if they couldn’t get people. That was what he’d heard. He’d never believed any of it; never really given it further thought. It had no bearing on his family’s way of life, and when you knew what was really out there, the kinds of things monsters could and did do to people, a little bit of sexual deviancy didn’t even tip the scales. Dad had never mentioned it, and if he’d thought Omegas were something to be wary of, surely he would have said something? 

But at this point, staring at his brother, Sam wondered with a strange, prickling sensation of uneasy fascination, was _Dean_ an Omega? Was that what was going on? He stepped forward, wanting to go to him, to show solidarity, sympathy. Put out a hand, intending to touch Dean on the arm, nothing more. And Dean shrank from him like he’d offered him a severed head, or a bucket of writhing maggots; like it was Sam who was sick, tainted. Sam froze, staring, stricken.

“S… sorry,” Dean rasped, his glance raking Sam’s face, realising the effect he’d just had on his little brother. “I just… can’t stand to be touched, right now. S’nothing personal. Not you.”

Dismay turned swiftly to compassion; Sam had moments like that himself, he could relate.

“It’s okay man,” he said, moving back a step to show his understanding. “Do you… can I get you anything? Cold wash-cloth, maybe?” Dean would wipe Sam’s forehead with one of those when he was sick; it was one of the most soothing things he knew. And Dean did look a little flushed now, rosy patches standing out against the general pallor, across his cheeks, down his throat. The tips of his ears were bright pink.

Dean laughed shakily. “Yeah. Actually, yeah, that would be great.”

He took the proffered cloth from Sam’s hand, gingerly, with a muttered ‘Thanks’. Pressed it to the back of his neck.

“So. Um.” Sam had so many questions, no idea where to start, how to show some tact. But he had to know. How could he help, if he didn’t understand? And Dean had wanted him here, hadn’t he? He decided to go with that approach.

“You said… You told Dad I could stay, so… I’m here to help, if you – you know. Anything. But I don’t really… I’m still not sure what’s happening. Dad didn’t say much… he didn’t say anything, really. I don’t wanna, it’s fine if you – I’m not trying to poke my nose in. But if you… maybe you could explain it a bit, so I know how to help?”

He suddenly remembered what Dad had said, about not letting Dean leave the room. Those playground rumours. “They’ll sleep with anyone, they’re like animals, they just don’t _stop_!” Mingled awe and revulsion, morbid curiosity; he could imagine them reacting in just the same way if he told them what he knew, about the things out there in the night with fangs and claws. He didn’t for one second fear for himself; he knew there was no way Dean would ever hurt him. But would he, might Dean feel the urge to get out, to find himself a, a partner? He was only fifteen, legally still a minor; why the hell wasn’t Dad here, Sam thought savagely, what was he expected to do with his scrawny, pre-teen body if Dean really put his mind to breaking out? Dean still wasn’t saying anything, staring fixedly down at the bed, so Sam tried again, putting all the urgency he felt into his voice.

“Dude, I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going on, what could happen, and I want to help, but I don’t know _how_. Talk to me, Dean, please!”

That got through. Dean looked up (his eyes; so green!), grimaced, sighed. Looked down again, rhythmically clutching at the covers with the hand that wasn’t holding the wash-cloth to his neck. But he started talking, his voice husky with emotion.

“Okay. Okay, Sammy. Well, I guess you’re gonna find out sooner or later.” He swallowed, the lump in his throat standing out pale against the rosy flush. “I’m… different.” He used the politically correct term but Sam could hear the self-loathing in the word; he might as well have said ‘a freak’, ‘a mistake’, ‘wrong’. A monster.

“You… do you know anything about Alpha genetics, Sam?” he asked.

“A little,” Sam admitted. He didn’t venture any more. Wanted to hear Dean’s side of things, not muddy the waters with all the garbage swilling around the school yard.

“Okay,” Dean went on, “well, dunno if you knew this, but… Dad’s an Alpha. So was Mom, apparently. That’s rare; most Alphas hook up with Typicals, not each other. Think it’s something to do with clashing personalities; two Alphas in one house, never a quiet moment.” He laughed softly as though at some secret memory from his childhood, before… the fire. It sounded raw, vulnerable. Had Mom and Dad fought? Sam had always pictured them as the perfect couple, the way Dad and Dean spoke about it, little as they ever did.

“Anyway, an Alpha and a Typical, sometimes their kids will turn out to be Alphas; most’ll be Typical, so that’s why it’s called that – typical of the population, the most common type. Two Alphas are supposed to have a higher chance of raising another Alpha, so they try it, even with the personality clash and all that. Dad was…” Dean swallowed again. “Dad probably hoped I would; I mean, with the hunting, and… everything. If he thought about it at all. Probably figured I could be; or if not, at least Typical.”

He stopped, his throat working convulsively as his hand squeezed the coverlet.

“But you’re not,” Sam said quietly.

“No,” said Dean, and how could he inject so much hurt into that one word? It fell from his lips like a baby bird from a nest, tiny and naked and helpless.

“Sometimes, two Alphas… It’s always Alphas, never happens with a Typical parent… sometimes, the kid can be… different. Not Alpha. The opposite.” He seemed to be struggling to voice the word, so Sam helped him out.

“Omega?” he said, as gently as he could, trying to convey that he wasn’t judging, wasn’t going to turn his back on Dean just because his brother was One Of Those.

“Yeah.” Dean swallowed again, breathed with difficulty. Looked like he was trying hard not to cry.

“Okay,” said Sam, “so, what’s so bad about that? I mean, it’s just another gender, right? It’s not like it’s something you can help. Man or woman, gay or straight, Alpha or Omega – we’re all just people, aren’t we? Especially when the monsters come. I bet they don’t make a distinction.”

Dean looked up at him again, his eyes shining like sea polished glass, and he actually smiled a little as he laughed again, raised his hand from the bed to wipe shakily at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “we’re all just people; we all bleed the same, die the same. Don’t all live the same though, Sammy.” His smile twisted, turned sad and sour.

“Is it… it’s something about sex, isn’t it?” Sam ventured.

Dean’s mouth and forehead puckered; he stared at Sam, clearly caught, not knowing what he could divulge to an eleven year old, although they’d had some pretty frank talks in the past. About girls and what you did with your dick, and the need for condoms, so Sam didn’t really see the point in being cagey now.

“I – I heard things,” he tried. “At school. Other kids, I mean. They… they weren’t very nice. I don’t believe that,” suddenly fierce. “Not about you. You wouldn’t.” It was a flat statement, no hint of doubt, and his gaze was level and unwavering, prompting another smile from Dean, grateful for the loyalty.

“Nah, don’t believe any of that shit,” he drawled. “It’s all just ignorance and prejudice.”

Sam nodded, confidence confirmed; his belief in his brother unshakeable.

“Well, 90% of it, anyway,” Dean lobbed a sudden boulder at the defensive walls of Sam’s conviction, making him frown.

“Did Dad… say anything about… about me having to stay here, in the room?” Dean asked, pretending diffidence.

Sam’s frown deepened. “Yeah, he said… He really wasn’t specific, Dean! He said you should stay here, and I should keep an eye on you, but if you didn’t stay, I should go get him, and I don’t _understand_!” His voice rose with frustration and he clenched his own fists, against his thighs. “Why isn’t he here with us, he’s never got a separate room before. You couldn’t leave if he was here, and how am I supposed to stop you? I don’t want you to get hurt! Don’t want you to… You wouldn’t hurt anyone, would you, Dean?” 

His voice fell again to a whisper, pleading, desperate to know his faith in his big brother couldn’t be shaken by this new thing, this dark secret that nobody would _tell_ him anything about. He wasn’t a little kid any more dammit, he was nearly twelve, he knew about hunting and monsters and _death_. What was so bad about sex? Sex meant life, so how could it be wrong? How could Dean be bad, his big brother, who had always looked out for him, who was the centre of Sam’s world?

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay, calm down!” Sam realised that Dean was talking, trying to get through to him; that he was standing there, rigid and shaking, his legs aching from the repeated slam of his own fists into the muscles, and his eyes were burning. It got like that sometimes, when the anger or frustration just suddenly boiled up and spilled over, a red rage sweeping him away.

“I’ll calm down, just as soon as you start talking to me like I’m your brother, not just a little kid,” he said coldly. “I could help, Dean; I want to help. You said you wanted me to stay. We’ve always talked about… about that stuff. Girls, and… things. Were you just full of shit, or are we buddies? Buddies talk to one another, they help each other out. So if I’m not, then I’m leaving, and you can just deal with this on your own.”

“Woah, hey, Sam, chill!” Dean looked genuinely alarmed at the threat, and something else flickered in those incredibly green eyes, something shy and lost that made Sam’s chest ache. He had the feeling Dean needed him, just didn’t like to admit it; and that was fine, he could understand that, as long as he could at least get Dean to accept it.

They both paused, looking at one another, the silence not strained but heavy with anticipation. Dean held out the wash-cloth, not quite meeting Sam’s eyes.

“If you wanna help, could you go wet this again? Stopped being cold a while ago,” he said.

“Sure,” Sam said, reaching for the cloth, and he went to soak it under the cold faucet.

“You running a temperature?” he asked when he came back, and Dean took the proffered cloth, clamping it back onto his neck with a sigh of relief.

“Yeah; s’all part of the process. I’m… it’s my first heat,” Dean said, blushing more and looking down.

“What’s that?” asked Sam. He hoped Dean was going to quit stalling on him now that he’d admitted this much, whatever it meant.

“It’s, uh… it’s a thing Omegas go through,” Dean mumbled awkwardly, but Sam could hear him well enough. “They – we – it’s a bit like… Uh, you know when a dog, a bitch I mean, comes into season?”

“Think so,” Sam kept his tone neutral, knowing Dean would close up again like a poked clam if he felt Sam wasn’t taking this 100% seriously. Which he was. “They need to mate, don’t they? Like, it’s a really strong urge, so strong they’ll get out if you don’t make sure they can’t escape. And the males can smell it, and they’ll go after the bitches, they’ll come from miles around, and if you’re not super careful you’ll have puppies before you know it.”

Dean laughed, a much heartier, more genuine sound than Sam had heard from him in a while. “That’s about the sum of it; trust you to know text-book information about dog sex, but nothing about humans. You are such a geek, Sam.”

“And you’re a dork,” Sam shot back, without rancour. “So is… that what it’s like, for you? You wanna break out and… get laid now?” Not much had changed there, he thought, although he was fairly sure that despite talking a good game, Dean didn’t have any actual practical experience. They never stuck around anywhere long enough for him to hook up with girls in school, and he was still too young to hustle strangers, besides being almost constantly under Dad’s watchful eye, or himself watching Sam.

“No, I – I dunno,” Dean answered. “Not really; I don’t feel that way, not right this minute. I’m just… hot, and can’t concentrate, it’s a lot like having the flu, and… feels like my – skin is super sensitive, which is why I didn’t want you touching me, earlier.” 

Sam might have been young but he knew stuff, and he knew Dean, and he didn’t miss that tiny pause or its real meaning. His gaze flicked, just for an instant, down to Dean’s crotch, and he could see the bulge there which said his brother was hard, even though he hadn’t been talking about girls. He looked back up in time to see Dean swallow and slide his gaze away. He was flushed enough already that Sam couldn’t tell if he blushed this time, but he knew Dean was embarrassed.

“So if a pretty girl came by right now -” Sam tried.

“Jeez, man, don’t!” Dean interrupted, scrubbing his hand across his face. “I’m tryin’ _not_ to think of stuff like that, okay? Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“Okay, sorry,” Sam said. But that part of him, the part that always had to _know_ , that made him such a good student (when something caught his interest), couldn’t let it go.

“What about, uh, a guy?” he asked, tentatively. Dean had never been interested in guys before, at least not that he’d ever admitted to Sam, but in school they said...

Dean groaned, and buried his face in both hands. “Sam, stop!” he forced out through the folds of the wash-cloth. “Can we not talk about this right now, please?”

“Okay,” Sam said, “but you were supposed to be explaining and...”

“Look,” Dean answered fiercely, lowering his hands and _glaring_ , and the effect with his brightened eyes was electric. “I’ll tell you stuff you need to know, okay, but – but it’s academic, right, it’s about Omegas, not… we’re not discussing anything _personal_. Get it?”

Sam nodded. He didn’t, really; if Dean was an Omega, then surely everything about them was personal, but if it made him feel better to put some distance to the subject then fine.

“All right,” Dean said, taking a deep breath. He looked down at the wash-cloth, then held it out mutely. Sam took the hint, went for a refill (recharge? What was the right term for it anyway?) He knew that Dean was perfectly capable of fetching for himself, but this way, he was helping, even if only a tiny bit, and Dean would see that he was sincere. Actually…

“I could go get some ice?” Sam suggested. He’d seen an ice machine up by the office. He could dump it in the sink, run in some water, make a nice ice bath to keep the cloth cold. If Dean was running through the thing this fast, it only made sense. There was helping, and there was running his legs off for no good reason.

“Yeah, okay, good idea.” Dean smiled at him and Sam felt that familiar clench in his chest that he got whenever Dean praised him, or was pleased, or just generally even noticed Sam’s existence beyond his general duties of care. Was this how Dean felt, when he looked after Sam? It felt good, like they were growing closer, connected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Sam seems a little precocious for an 11 year old, bear in mind how clever he is, how much he knows about the world already (monsters, death etc.) and that he is raised largely by Dean, who as a teenager only four years older, doesn't really have the best credentials for what's appropriate to share. Also that his memories (but not the vocabulary he uses) are coloured by hindsight. I have a bright 11 year old myself at the time of writing and some of the things he somehow finds out about raise the hairs on the back of my neck. If Sam had had access to the internet at the time, things would have gone so much more smoothly for poor Dean!


	2. Chapter 2

Sam went off for the ice, figuring it was safe enough, Dean hadn’t shown any signs so far of bolting; had said he didn’t feel that way, just fluey and… sensitive. He realised when he got halfway that he didn’t have anything to carry the ice in. He hesitated; knocked on Dad’s door. It was answered immediately.

“Sam; everything okay?” Dad sounded worried, but calm. Trying to keep his cool. Like Dean.

“Dean needs ice,” Sam said. “But I don’t have anything to put it in.”

“Oh, right; sure thing. Hang on a moment.” Dad’s gaze flicked down the lot towards the door of Sam and Dean’s room, his meaning clear; keep a watch, in case Dean…

Dad came back in a few minutes, with a large plastic container.

“Dad,” Sam said. “Can’t you… I’m happy to help but if Dean does… try to leave, I can’t stop him, I’m not big enough. It’d be better if you stayed with us. I know it’s… I know Dean’s embarrassed, but...”

Dad wiped his hand across his eyes, avoiding looking at Sam. “Son, that’s not… That isn’t the reason. I’m sorry, but I… I can’t. Not this time. He’ll be fine; you’re doing a great job. Just come get me if you need me; if he needs anything. Actually, I’m heading out, just for a while; I need to get some things, and I’ll come back with food. I won’t be long. Think you can manage for now?”

It was so unlike Dad to check if they’d be okay in his absence, to offer more than a cursory ‘I’m heading out, I’ll be back in a few hours’ – or, more likely days, that Sam just stared. This Omega thing really was a big deal, he thought, and felt a renewed stirring of the worry deep in his stomach. Something must have shown in his face, because Dad put out a hand and patted him on the shoulder.

“I won’t be long, Sam,” he repeated. “You’ve got this. Now go get that ice for your brother.”

When Sam got back to their room, Dean was lying on the bed, with a hand across his eyes and one leg crooked up at the knee. He was drumming with the other foot in the familiar rhythm of one of his favourite songs; Sam wasn’t personally interested enough to remember which, just to recognise the beat. It seemed to mingle in counterpoint to the soft whir of the ceiling fan, which Dean must have switched on while he was out.

“I got the ice,” Sam said, crossing to the bathroom. “And Dad says he’s going out to get supplies. He still seems to think you’re gonna do a runner. I asked why he couldn’t be here himself, fat lot of use I’d be. He… he said he couldn’t. I don’t get it, Dean. Do you?”

Dean snorted, didn’t move his hand, though he stopped drumming his foot on the bed. “Yeah,” he clipped out, his voice brittle. “Yeah, Dad can’t… be around me for a while, Sammy. It’s just you and me. Nothing new there, huh, kiddo?”

Sam decided against dumping the ice into the tiny sink, ran some water into the plastic container instead and dumped in the wash-cloth which he’d found abandoned, crumpled up in the sink as though Dean had hurled it there in disgust. Then he took the whole container through to the other room. Got up onto the bed beside Dean and sat cross legged. What he could see of Dean’s face was very flushed now, the pallor of before completely gone, and Sam could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Look, I know you don’t wanna be touched,” he said, “but let me, I’ll be careful.” Dean just ‘mmphed’ by way of response, so Sam wrung out the cloth and dabbed gently at his brother’s forehead. It felt icy, he wouldn’t have wanted it anywhere near his own face, and Dean gasped at the first contact, but then made a soft, appreciative little sound and turned his head slightly on the pillow towards Sam. 

So they sat like that for a while, saying nothing, while Sam kept renewing the cloth in the ice bath and carefully bathed Dean’s face and, as he didn’t put up any protest, his neck and throat. At one point his sense of mischief overcame him and he dribbled ice water over Dean’s t-shirt, across his chest. Rather than cursing Sam, lashing out or jumping up, Dean drew in a sharp breath and arched off the bed, digging his hips down into the mattress. Sam paused, hovering with the cloth above his brother, wondering if that had hurt.

“Do that again,” Dean whispered from under his hand. “Feels good. So hot, Sam. ‘M burning up.”

“You should take off your shirt then,” Sam decided. “I’ll do your chest as well.”

Dean hesitated, but not for long. He swung upright suddenly, pushing himself from the hips in a smooth display of strength (perfect demonstration that his morning routine of sit-ups was effective), stripped off his tee and threw himself back down, hand back over his eyes. Sam got back to his ministrations, trying to ignore the soft little sounds Dean kept making, which were doing funny things to his stomach. He concentrated on doing a good job, dipping the cloth in the ice bath, applying it in measured increments across Dean’s heated skin. The cold water on his hands, and the breeze from the fan, made him feel a little chilly, but being so close to Dean was like sitting by a heater.

“Shouldn’t you maybe take something to get your temperature down?” he asked.

“Not sure it’d help,” Dean mumbled. “Ice is helping, though. Doing great, Sam.”

Sam felt his own flush of warmth at the praise. Good; talking was good. He should try to draw Dean out a little more, while he was relaxed.

“Still don’t see why Dad can’t help,” he said, careful to sound matter of fact rather than whiny. It wasn’t that he minded being here, close to Dean, being useful; was loving the opportunity to give something back, in fact, return some of the attention Dean lavished on him – when he wasn’t picking a fight, making fun or just ignoring his goofy, awkward little brother.

Dean was quiet for a few moments, then, “Remember what you said about the bitches in heat?” he asked.

Sam paused, resting the cloth in the centre of Dean’s chest, frowned down at his brother’s unseeing face. “About them running away?”

“About the other dogs, how they react to them,” Dean corrected. When Sam didn’t say anything, he went on, “See, dogs – and Omegas – in heat, they give off these; chemicals, it’s hormones -”

“Pheromones,” Sam supplied, softly. He knew that.

“Yeah, those,” Dean continued. “And they affect everyone, a little, which is why it’s dangerous for me to go out, because someone… Some guy, could… Well, it’s just best for me to stay indoors for the duration. You’re okay, because you’re a kid. But Dad… It’s even worse for him, because he’s an Alpha. For some reason, they – the, the pheromones – they affect Alphas more than anyone, especially the men. Drives them nuts. It’s just not safe for an Omega to be around an Alpha, any Alpha, when… when they’re like this.”

Sam stared, not that Dean could see. “But, it’s Dad,” he whispered, shocked at the half-grasped implications of what Dean seemed to be saying. “Dad wouldn’t hurt you, Dean. He just wouldn’t!”

There was a short, unpleasant pause. “Not on purpose, no, ‘course he wouldn’t,” Dean said, his tone flat and tired. “But… the pheromones, they’re strong, Sam. They make people – Alphas – Omegas, too – do things they… It wouldn’t be his fault. He’d hate himself, afterwards, but… It’s just safer to stay out of the way. Families, when this happens, you know; it’s pretty standard. The Omega goes away for a while, stays in isolation until, until the heat’s over. They lock them up in a room, usually. Get someone safe to help look after them; another Omega, or a Typical, a woman or a kid. The younger the better. That’s what you’re doing, right?”

Sam was appalled, the hazy understanding drenching through him like the ice water he had been applying to Dean. “How...” his throat rasped; he coughed, tried again. “How long; I mean, how often, does this happen?”

“Around once a month, usually; it’s just for a couple of days at a time. No real biggie.”

“Every _month_?” Sam nearly shouted. “Dean, you can’t stay locked up in a motel room every month, not the way we live. What about hunting? What about school? What if, what if it starts when we’re out on a hunt somewhere, miles from any place safe, and Dad has to drive you...” 

He choked to a stop, feeling tears springing to his eyes. Okay, this was bad, suddenly this made a lot more sense of the way Dean and Dad had reacted back there on the road, why Dad had hot-wheeled it to this motel. Through no fault of his own, Dean was going to give off these pheromones, every damn month, which were so strong they could drive his own father to… to attack him (Sam knew that wasn’t exactly right, but his mind refused to picture the horror of the full truth) and as if that weren’t bad enough, if he didn’t stay locked away, other people, other Alphas and even Typicals, would be driven to attack him, too. It was like he had a condition that caused everyone around him to become a monster; everyone except Sam. But as Sam grew older, became an adult himself… No. No way. He wouldn’t, he _couldn’t_ , he loved Dean…

“Hey. Hey, Sammy, it’s okay. Shh. C’mon.” He realised, suddenly, that he was crying, really turning on the waterworks, and Dean had sat up, was holding him, rubbing his back. Sam’s forehead felt hot where it rested in the crook of Dean’s neck, and his tears evaporated the moment they fell onto his brother’s skin. This close, he could smell something, or thought he could; a slight spiciness, a warm, rich flavour like baked cinnamon apples rising from Dean like the steam from an oven. Trust Dean’s pheromones to smell like pie, he thought, hiccupping as he laughed while crying. He flung his arms around Dean’s neck, reflexively, and hung on tight. Dean hugged him back, making soothing noises, his hands stroking in gentle circles. 

Gradually, Sam got a hold of himself, stopped crying, except for the occasional sniffle; but that was really just an excuse to breathe in more of his brother’s delicious scent. It grounded him; made him feel safe, and loved, and home. They were never normally this close, even when Sam was ill, though they were more physical with one another than they ever got with Dad. Normally, he suspected Dean would have put him off, once he’d stopped crying, with some kind of joke or by trying to change the subject. For now, he seemed content to hold Sam, and Sam was very happy to be held.

“Feeling better, kiddo?” Dean murmured into his ear, and Sam gave a huge sniff, nodded, and burrowed his head more firmly into Dean’s collarbone. His hand curled around the back of Dean’s neck, clinging; possessive. His fingers encountered the string of Dean’s amulet, the one Sam had given him, which he never took off, and he plucked at it idly. No way he was ever going to let this… condition, this _thing_ take his brother from him. Dean kept up the soothing massage, his hand trailing heat around Sam’s shoulder blades and spine.

“Hey, if you’d given me a chance to explain before you went full Samantha on me,” Dean teased, “it’s not gonna be like this; not every month. Used to be, historically; but they have drugs for it now. Heat suppressants, they’re called. They’re pretty easy to pick up; available in any pharmacy, like condoms. Nobody’ll ask questions, especially not to an Alpha like Dad. I bet that’s what he’s gone to pick up, right now. So I’ll be back to normal in no time, and hunting won’t be an issue. Gotta admit though, the thought of a get out of school free card is pretty appealing.”

Sam smiled wetly against Dean’s neck. “How come you know so much about all this?” he asked. It wasn’t as though either of them had been expecting it, Dean or Dad.

“Hey, I pay attention in class, sometimes,” Dean joked. “Especially health ed. They tell us more when you get to my age; we need to know, ‘cause it hits around puberty. And… well. There was Andy.”

“Andy?” Sam asked Dean’s collarbone. He wasn’t going to move, not unless Dean asked him to; possibly not then, either.

“Yeah.” Dean sighed, suddenly sounded tired again; a little sad. “He was a guy in my class last year. Early developer, I guess. It can start as early as twelve, thirteen; some cases.”

“He was an Omega, too?” Sam clarified. Dean just hummed a confirmation.

“What happened to him?”

Another of those tense little pauses which suggested whatever Dean was about to say wouldn’t be good.

“You know kids,” Dean said eventually, reluctantly. “They can be...”

“Assholes?” Sam supplied helpfully.

Dean chuckled into his hair. “I was gonna say, mean. But yeah. Assholes is right. Can’t remember how they worked it out, maybe there was an Alpha higher in the year who sniffed him out, maybe one of the teachers got funny; people can behave real strange around an Omega when they know. Or maybe it was the time he took off when he was on heat, I think… for some reason he didn’t take the suppressants. Religious bullshit, maybe. Anyway, it got around. And he was a good looking guy; Omegas usually are, just like Alphas.” He said it without a trace of conscious irony or self-regard, simply stating a fact. “So enough kids were already jealous.”

“And they picked on him?” Sam guessed, his hold on Dean’s neck tightening.

“He was completely ostracised,” Dean said, quietly, but with so much venom in his tone Sam shivered. “You’d think he had some kind of infectious disease. Hell, I knew a couple of kids at that school _did_ have a disease, some VD they’d picked up from skanking around, and they didn’t take nearly as much flak as poor Andy. It’s not like Omega genes are _contagious_. And it’s not like they’re gonna _do_ anything to anyone, even when they’re… in heat. It’s more likely other people’ll do stuff to _them_.”

His hand clenched reflexively on Sam’s shoulder, not quite hard enough to hurt. Then he went on, his voice gone quieter but flat. “Omegas don’t… They don’t hassle anyone. Remember that, Sam; it’s important. Sure, they… they get needy, and they go out, and they’ll look around to hook up, but – but when they’re in that state, all you need to do is say no and they’ll back off. Straight away. I’m not joking. The tiniest slip of a teenaged girl could send even a guy like me to the rightabout, just by looking down her nose. An Omega will never, _never_ rape someone. Those stories are complete bullshit. Alphas rape Omegas, some Typicals will too, the type who’re predisposed to that kind of thing. And they… we… won’t even fight back. That’s why we can’t be allowed out during heat, it’s for our own safety. I dunno what it is exactly; some kind of neural thing. Like, you can give any kind of order, and we’ll just… especially from an Alpha. Then the orders are backed up by pheromones and… Anyway. Andy wasn’t a danger to anyone, and he wasn’t even interested in sex when he was around, when he wasn’t even in heat. But the way those others treated him, you’d think he’d turned into a full-on werewolf. Fucking disgusting.”

Sam’s head was swimming with horror and he had to breathe hard, pulling in Dean’s warm, spicy scent to push down the nausea.

“And… you were the only one who talked to him, I bet, right?” Sam whispered, snuggling even closer, feeling the amulet press into his flesh and Dean’s heart beating right next to his own. A beat; two; three.

“Nope. I ignored him, too.” Sam stiffened, incredulous. “Hey, you said it, kids are assholes. Self included. I was too busy trying to fit in, stay cool, pull the chicks. I wasn’t gonna risk all that on one poor schmuck, even if I did feel sorry for him. Not like we’d be staying long enough for me to make a difference.”

“But you didn’t… you weren’t mean to him, right?” Sam breathed, ghost of a whisper against Dean’s skin.

“’Course not,” Dean answered promptly. “And I did tear this guy off him one time, told him to pick on someone his own gender before everyone got suspicious he had the hots for him. He left Andy alone after that. Not sure Andy appreciated it, though. But after that, I paid attention. And I did a little digging. Especially when I found out...”

“Found what?”

“Well, the thing about two Alphas. Cause that’s the only way you can get an Omega. I was pretty sure about Dad; didn’t know about Mom, not until right now. I mean; it wasn’t like they were unhappy. From what I remember. They loved each other, they were… good together. Mostly. But there were arguments. And Mom stood up to Dad, she was a lot like you Sammy, she wouldn’t put up with anything she didn’t agree with, so… I wondered. ‘Cause. You know.”

“Know what?” Sam couldn’t believe how much Dean was talking; it seemed like he needed only the barest hint of encouragement to keep going. This stuff was spilling from him like he needed to get it all off his chest, like he was rooting out poison; and maybe he did. He wouldn’t have been able to talk to anyone about this; least of all Dad. It must have been weighing on him for months, and now, to have those suspicions confirmed…

“’Cause of who I am,” Dean was saying, as if that simple statement explained everything.

“What do you mean?” Sam addressed the collarbone. It was easier to talk like this, intimate but secretive, not too personal when you were addressing each other’s throat, or hair; not looking into the eyes. ‘The eyes are the window to a person’s soul,’ he seemed to recall hearing, or reading, that somewhere. Dean’s eyes were so green, his soul must be a garden in full spring…

But Dean was talking again, he’d nearly missed it, spacing out and getting all poetic about his big brother. Such a goof.

“The good soldier,” Dean was saying, sarcastically. “The dutiful son. Obedient. Submissive. Doesn’t matter what I think, if I like it; when Dad says jump, I always ask ‘How high?’ Not like you. Sometimes I think you argue just to pick a fight; if he insisted the sky was blue you’d go out of your way to prove it yellow.”

Sam wanted to protest what Dean was saying, but there was no point; he knew it was true. Didn’t seem to him that it was a bad thing, though; Dad certainly approved of Dean’s behaviour. Sam had always felt he was the one somehow disappointing the family; now, Dean seemed to be suggesting there could be a reason for that, too.

“You saying I’m… an Alpha?” Sam asked, and held his breath.

“Naw. You’re too short.” Dean nuzzled him behind the ear to take the sting from the words. “And scrawny. You’re probably Typical, like most everyone. There’s less than a 50% chance even two Alphas will have another Alpha for a kid.”

“But me arguing with Dad, like Mom..?” Sam pressed.

“Typicals can be argumentative, too,” Dean insisted. “Typicals can be just like an Alpha, in most ways, at least around other Typicals. It’s when you get an Alpha and an Omega together that you really see the difference. That’s why Dad and I’ll have to be careful, from now on. But it’ll be fine, you’ll see. The suppressants will fix it.”

He sounded confident, but Sam knew his brother, sometimes even better than he knew himself, and the confidence rang hollow. It was just another front, like Dean always put up; trying to convince himself as much as his little brother. Sam remembered how Dean had looked this morning, standing at the side of the road, with Dad’s hand on his shoulder. Utterly broken, and helpless with the weight of disillusion. Why that attitude, if everything was going to be fine? And then there was the story about Andy. Okay, apparently he hadn’t taken the suppressants, but still. Dean could still be found out, all it took was another Alpha to smell him and ‘out’ him to everyone around. 

Sam took another, appreciative sniff. If Dean smelled this strong even to Sam, a kid and likely Typical, how obvious would he be to an Alpha adult? No wonder he couldn’t leave the room. He’d be like a walking billboard, a neon light, the perfume counter at a department store. He’d pull in Alphas from blocks away, all mesmerised by his scent like insects flocking to honey. Sam still didn’t have a clear idea what could happen, ‘rape’ being a somewhat intangible concept to a boy his age, but he knew it was bad, knew it wasn’t something he ever wanted to happen to Dean. His brother. _His_ Dean. Who’d saved him from the fire and always looked after him and helped save people from monsters, even Andy, who he’d ignored, and who smelled like apple pie, and had eyes like emeralds, and was basically the best damn person in the whole world, and didn’t deserve to have something like this happen to him.

“You’ll be fine, Dean,” he murmured against his throat. “I’ll look after you. Always.” Dean didn’t reply, but his arms snugged tighter around Sam, and they sat for a long while, just drinking in the companionable silence and the closeness, the ice bath and Dean’s soaring temperature somehow forgotten.

Yep, maybe if he’d given it a little more objective thought, it should have been obvious to Sam how he’d turn out, too. Hindsight was a hell of a thing; but it always showed up late to the party.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had lost all track of time (and space) and was just floating, warm and content in a Dean-scented sea of glittering green, when someone knocked on the door. It pulled him out of his doze at once, but he didn’t move at first, reluctant to let go and lose the cradle of his brother’s arms.

“Sam?” It was Dad outside. “Everything okay in there?”

He felt Dean stiffen, automatically laid his hand on his cheek to reassure him. “Just a minute!” he called, and sighed as he pulled away from Dean’s embrace. Then he pulled a face, as he felt the stickiness of sweat between them like glue, realised that his own t-shirt was drenched. That’s what you get for cuddling with a furnace, he thought.

He reached for the container of not-so-much-ice-water and splashed his face, then dunked his whole head, coming up and shaking like a dog. Droplets sprayed the room, liberally showering Dean, who laughed and stuck out an arm in half-hearted defence.

Another knock, impatient, and “I’m coming!” Sam shouted, and scrambled off the bed. He opened the door gingerly, just enough to squeeze himself outside, not sure if he wanted to keep Dean in or Dad out, or just stop their father from catching a glimpse of Dean, shirtless and vulnerable and suddenly, somehow, Sam’s responsibility, their relationship inverted in one tumble of genetic dice.

Dad was standing there with a paper bag balanced on a large pizza box. He laughed at the sight of Sam.

“You look like a drowned rat,” he said. “What’d you do, get into a water fight?”

Sam grinned back, a little embarrassed. “Oh, uh, it’s just so hot in there. Dean’s kinda burning up. You get the drugs?”

Dad’s smile faded and he looked… apologetic? “Has Dean… Have you two talked, do you know what’s… going on?” he asked. 

Sam nodded seriously. They’d probably talked more than Dad would like, but he was always leaving things like that to Dean so what’d he expect? Sam didn’t think Dad was a bad parent, not exactly; he knew he loved them and did his best to keep them safe; but when it came to discussing the really important things in life, he seemed happiest just… not getting involved. Probably why he’d been so quick to let Sam stay with Dean, letting his sons take care of each other for him, like always. Sam felt only mild resentment. He was used to it; and it meant he had Dean to himself, most of the time; especially when it counted, like now.

“He told you about the; the suppressants?” Dad stumbled over the word, wincing.

“Yeah. He said everything would be okay, that they’d fix him. Then he’ll be able to come out of the room, right?” Sam stared hopefully, not understanding why Dad was hedging. Hadn’t he been able to find any, after all?

Dad looked away, unable to meet Sam’s open gaze; dragged a hand over his face. “Son, I’ve some… bad news,” he said then. “I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t find any?” Sam’s voice was small.

Dad took a deep breath, frowned suddenly, gave Sam a narrow eyed, penetrating look which he didn’t understand at all. “No, it’s not that,” he said, slowly. He sniffed, his nostrils flaring wide, and somehow Sam was reminded of a wolf on the prowl; it sent a shiver up his back, through the drying sweat and the water dripping from his hair. Dad must have noticed; he dragged his hand across his face again – Sam saw that it was trembling slightly – and forced his gaze away.

“They had the drugs,” he said. “Problem is; when they asked, what age were they meant for, it turns out… Well, apparently he can’t take them until his hormones have settled. It’s too dangerous, would mess up his whole system. Dean has to go through the first few… heats… before we can risk the suppressants. He’s just going to have to ride this one out, Sam. We all are.” He looked back, a mute appeal for understanding, but Sam wasn’t feeling very sympathetic towards his father right now. It wasn’t him who would be trapped in a motel room for days, burning up and shaky, scared of everyone, even his own father.

“It’s okay,” he said woodenly. “I’ll stay with him. It’s not too bad. Mostly it’s just the fever. Can he take anything for that at least; some aspirin?”

Dad shook his head. “No drugs; not even caffeine. That means coke, too. I got milk-shakes, and if he wants soda, tell him to stick to the fruit stuff. I got some Sprite while I was out, but it’s back in my room, you’ll have to come fetch it.”

There was a pause while they looked at one another, Sam making no move yet to take the food. He wanted to talk; really talk, to an adult, someone who was supposed to get what this was all about and calm his fears, make everything better. But he’d never gotten that from Dad, and he wasn’t naive enough to suppose it would start now.

Dad stared back, thinking who knew what, and his nose kept twitching. A faint line furrowed his forehead, puzzled, not angry. His eyes softened suddenly and he shifted the box to rest on his forearm, put his free hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“I know this is difficult, Sam; I wish I could do more to help, I really do. This isn’t something I want to dump on a kid your age, believe me, if there was any way… But...”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Sam replied. “Dean explained it to me. You can’t be around him, ‘cause of the pheromones. I get it.” He didn’t, still, not really. Got why it could be a problem around other guys, strangers, but this was _Dad_. How could he possibly hurt his own son, even with all that apple pie scent in his nose? He was strong, committed, patient (when they were toeing the line, anyway), loyal; as strict with himself as he was with his children. Sam appreciated all those qualities, didn’t understand how anything, especially anything to do with Dean, could break down that bond between father and son. He could fight it, if he tried; he was John Winchester, he wasn’t like other Alphas, he fought monsters; real, bone sucking, nightmare crawling _monsters_. Sam realised that his eyes had filled with tears and he sniffed, trying valiantly to hold them back.

“Hey, it’s okay. Only two days, right? And it’s not like he’ll be alone, Sammy, he’s got you. And I’m going to be right here, any time you need me, any time at all.” Dad tugged at Sam’s shoulder, pulling him towards him, enveloped him in a one-armed hug. Sam’s nose was buried in Dad’s shirt and he could smell him, something woody and green (flashback to Dean’s intense eyes) and another baking kind of smell, different from Dean’s, heavier, spicier. Like Dean’s scent, it was comforting; homely; and he relaxed, breathing deeply while Dad rubbed a soothing hand over his shoulder blades, curling his fingers up into the damp strands of his hair…

Dad tensed suddenly, muttered an expletive under his breath and stepped back, almost pushing Sam away from him as his arm straightened, grip painful on his shoulder until he let go completely. He stood there, nostrils flaring as he breathed hard, almost panting. His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were wide and wild. Sam felt that shiver again, the image of the ravening wolf back in his mind, and he flinched back against the door, wondering if Dad was going to attack him. He was staring right at him, but from the unfocused look on his face, he wasn’t really seeing Sam.

Then he shuddered, closed his eyes and dragged his hand over his face again (it was becoming a familiar, and slightly disturbing gesture). He turned his head to the side, took a deep breath, and another; turned back to Sam. He was Dad again, the madman (the wolf?) gone, but the look on his face now was even worse; his whole face sagged with remorse and his eyes were wounded, twisting something sharply in Sam’s chest to look at them, although Dad wasn’t quite meeting his gaze.

“Sam,” he rasped, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, I – so sorry. You… your brother, you… reek of him, I… I can’t.” His hand scrubbed at his face again, as though he could wipe off the offending stink. “Just… take your food, it’s going cold. And, Sam?” He looked directly into his eyes, making sure he had his attention. Swallowed hard. “If you come over; you’d better come to me, I’m not coming here again; make sure you shower first. Get some clean clothes.”

He bent abruptly, placing the pizza box and bag down on the ground, then turned on his heel to go. Paused. “Tell Dean… I love him,” he said quietly over his shoulder. “I love you both.” And he strode off back to his own room, while Sam stared after him, open mouthed.

All that, just from whatever had lingered on Sam’s clothes from Dean’s sweat? He wasn’t really sure what had just happened, but clearly Dad was shaken, had gone into some weird, wolfed out state on smelling him. Like he’d been drugged, almost. Suddenly, Sam was starting to realise the seriousness of the situation; how badly Dean could affect even Dad. If he was like that around Sam, there was no way he could come anywhere near Dean. Maybe he could fight it, but… Sam really didn’t want to see that battle go south. Trembling, he lifted the take-out Dad had left, opened the door and slipped gratefully back inside, to safety. He dumped his armload straight onto the floor and flipped the deadbolt on the door, then slid down with his back against the door, breathing hard. His heart was racing.

“Sam, what’s wrong, what happened?” Dean had sat up on the bed and was staring at him, full of concern.

“N-nothing,” Sam stuttered. “It’s fine. Dad brought food.” He hefted the bag holding the milk-shakes.

“Yeah, so what’s got you in such a state?” Dean asked, reasonably. “You look like a ghost turned up with dinner, not Dad.”

“It’s fine, really, I’m just – it doesn’t matter,” Sam lied, busying himself with collecting up the parcels as he got to his feet. He came over and dumped them on the end of the bed; hesitated a moment, then climbed up and sat down beside Dean, cross legged, like he had earlier.

“Hey.” Dean’s arm snaked around him, hugged him close, and he shivered; partly as he realised how cold he was, next to Dean’s furnace heat, and partly as he recalled the way Dad had pulled him into a hug, before everything went bad. Sam tensed, but this was Dean, not Dad, and he remembered how it had felt earlier, sheltered in his brother’s arms, breathing in his scent, which he could detect now. Lighter than Dad’s, cleaner somehow, soothing. The apple and cinnamon he remembered from before, and another, newer scent; sweet and rich, like syrup, or honey. He leaned in suddenly, buried his nose in Dean’s shoulder and heaved a single, shaky sob.

“Hey,” Dean said again, gently, rubbing Sam’s back just like he had before. “Tell me, Sammy. Buddies, remember? Something happened, was it Dad? Did he scare you?”

The contact, and the scent, were calming Sam like magic, and he collected his thoughts, which had scattered like wild horses at the howl of the wolf.

“Yeah, it was Dad,” he admitted, “but it wasn’t – he didn’t do anything. He just; he could smell you on me, and… I just got a bit scared, that’s all. Dad was… weird. I thought he was gonna… only for a moment, though. Dad wouldn’t hurt me – or you. He said he loved us.”

Dean hugged him even tighter. “ _Fucking_ pheromones,” he whispered into Sam’s hair. “Fucking Alphas. Fuck this, fuck _me_.”

Sam giggled, a totally inappropriate thought dissolving the last of his tension. “Isn’t that, um, the point?” he asked, and giggled again, a little hysterical.

“Huh?” Dean clearly wasn’t on the same page.

“Fucking you,” Sam snorted, heady with the thrill of swearing like this, Dad would definitely howl if he heard them! “I mean, ‘cause you… ‘cause you’re Omega… and...” It wasn’t really that funny, he thought; but he couldn’t stop laughing, shaking so hard he was rocking Dean on the bed. After a moment, Dean chuckled too, a little wryly.

“Yeah, I guess. Funny, Sam. Guess that’s what I get for swearing in front of my kid brother. I should wash my mouth out with soap.”

Sam sobered, drew back a little to stare up at Dean, into those beautiful green eyes that looked so serious and so sad right now.

“Don’t do that,” he said earnestly. “I won’t say it in front of Dad, I promise. Um, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t that… Don’t you wanna do that? I mean, I just thought… I know you’ve always liked girls, but, I thought maybe this changed things?”

Dean sighed. “No, Sam. I’m Omega, not gay. It… look you’re too young to understand right now, but that’s not how it works. It – it’s complicated, and – and personal, and we agreed we weren’t gonna get into personal, okay?”

“Oh.” Sam digested this for a moment. That kinda sucked then, because he was pretty sure, even if 90% of what people said was bull, that it was going to happen to Dean, sooner or later. Dad’s behaviour was Exhibit A in evidence for that. “’M sorry, Dean.” 

It was sympathy, not an apology, and Dean understood. He ruffled Sam’s hair. “Don’t worry about it. Ain’t your problem, and ain’t gonna be mine either, soon as I’ve taken those drugs. Where are they?”

Damn, the suppressants! Sam had forgotten. His stomach dropped and he stared at Dean, open mouthed, not sure how to break the bad news.

“Sam?” Dean asked, worry creeping into his expression and voice. “Dad did bring the drugs, didn’t he? Check the bag?”

Sam shook his head sadly. “He said… The pharmacist told him, you’re too young to take them. They’re not good for when – you have to ride out your first few heats, so your body gets used to it.”

Dean went very still; after a moment, his eyes dropped. To Sam, who was drinking in their wonderful greenness every chance he could, it seemed almost as though the light in them had dimmed.

“Right,” Dean said, low and soft and sad. “Well… first heats aren’t supposed to be too bad, anyway. Guess we’ll find out, now.”

“I’m here for you, anyway,” Sam offered with all the naive sincerity of his eleven years. 

Dean flicked his gaze back up, twitched a smile in appreciation. “I know, man. Thanks. Hey, you should eat, pizza’s gonna be stone cold if we just sit around yacking like a pair of girls.”

Sam was in agreement there, and pulled the pizza box over. Looked like Dad had got Dean’s favourite, which meant a little too much pepperoni for Sam’s taste, but he could pick some pieces off and pile them on the side. He tore off a slice and turned the box, shoving it towards Dean, but Dean actually leaned back out of the way, his nose wrinkling.

“Nah, I’m not hungry; well, not for that, anyway.”

Sam stared, pizza paused mid-bite. “You’re not hungry for pizza? But it’s your favourite,” he said indistinctly around his own mouthful.

Dean pulled a face. “Yeah, I dunno. It smells weird. Can you go eat that at the end of the bed, please, Sam?”

Sam dutifully hitched himself and the pizza box further down the bed. “You gotta eat something though Dean,” he pressed.

“Well, did Dad bring anything else? What’s in the bag?” Dean asked.

Sam checked. “Milk-shakes, and oh, pie, Dean! You want some pie?”

Dean perked up at that. “Pie? Yeah, I could go for that. What kind is it? Here, hand it over.”

They settled down happily to eat, Dean making obscene noises over the pie (which apparently was blueberry) and taking the strawberry milk-shake, which was odd, because usually Sam had that and Dean would take the vanilla; not that Sam minded, long as Dean was eating, and he did have an entire pizza to himself after all. He decided to let Dean have both slices of pie, because he was such a fantastic little brother, and Dean probably needed to keep his strength up if he was going to be running a temperature like this for the next couple of days.

“There any soda?” Dean asked, hopefully. “’M really thirsty.”

“Oh, yeah but – it’s back in Dad’s room,” Sam answered. “Want me to go get it?” His fear had almost completely evaporated, after all, Dad hadn’t hurt him.

“Nah, finish your pizza first, I’ll just get some water,” Dean replied, moving to get up.

“Let me!” Sam said, scrambling to his feet. 

Dean laughed. “I’ve got a temperature, Sam, I haven’t lost the use of my legs.”

“I know, but… I wanna help,” Sam replied, obstinately.

“Okay, fine!” Dean grinned at him. “I could get used to this,” he teased, as Sam went to fetch water in the tooth glass the motel provided. “Being an Omega’s not so bad, if it gets me a willing slave!”

Sam snorted as he handed over the water. “In your dreams, Dean. This is just while you’re in heat, ‘cause you need the support. And if I don’t… help out, I kinda feel like some kind of prison guard.” He sat down and went back to his pizza. Didn’t feel like mentioning that with one look from those dazzling eyes, Dean could ask him to do anything. He wasn’t about to give his brother any more leverage.

It was Dean’s turn to snort. “Prison guard, yeah, right. You realise I could just wait ‘til you’re asleep, sneak out then? You weren’t planning on staying awake the whole night for two days straight, were you?”

Sam stared, stricken. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but now Dean had said it… “M-maybe I should?” he stammered. “I’ll ask Dad to get me some coke – you can’t drink that by the way, he said no caffeine – but I’ll need it to stay awake. I will Dean, I won’t let you sneak off, it’s not safe!”

“Sam, don’t be stupid, you can’t stay awake that long, even if you drink gallons of coke. I was only kidding, I’m not going anywhere; I promise!” Dean sounded worried, and contrite. “Look, if it makes you feel better, get Dad to lock the door from the outside before we go to sleep. Window’s pretty small, doubt I’d be getting out through that.”

“Yeah, then we’d just have to worry about being stuck in here if there was a fire,” Sam muttered.

“There won’t be any fire,” Dean said with that patient exasperation common to big brothers. “Jeez, Sam, I’m sorry I said anything; it was a joke, okay? It’s gonna be fine; we’ll be fine. Look, you… I dunno.” He dropped his eyes again, embarrassed rather than upset this time.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I just… it’s up to you, man, no pressure,” said Dean, still not looking at Sam. “But if – it makes you feel better, safer I mean; you could – we could share the bed? Then you’d know, wouldn’t you, if I got up in the night.” His gaze flicked up to Sam’s face and away again. “I mean, I’m not – I don’t mean any funny business, Sam.” He swallowed. “Just, you know, like we used to, when we were smaller. You always used to wake up if I did; was a real pain when I needed the bathroom.”

Sam regarded Dean thoughtfully. It wasn’t a bad idea, as a safety feature. But he had the feeling it was about more than that. Dean was acting oddly today. Open and... vulnerable; much more tolerant, grateful even, for Sam’s interference, than he would be normally. Under any other circumstances, by about now, he would’ve been snapping at Sam to get out of his face, find someone else to trail after like an annoying little kid. It was like he genuinely needed Sam, and being his guard dog was just an excuse for Dean to ask for what he really wanted.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam agreed. “That could work.” Dean shot him a look, and a smile, of pure relief. “But I’m not sharing the covers,” Sam added. “You’re too hot, I’d never be able to sleep.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, that’s fine. Was planning on sleeping on top anyway. Don’t think I could sleep if I had even a sheet!”

That settled, Sam got down to finishing his meal. Afterwards, he dragged himself off the bed, reluctant to leave Dean’s presence, but he knew he needed to go see Dad.

“I’ll go get the soda,” he said, “and tell Dad to lock the door when I come back.” Dean might have been joking, but he was glad he’d brought it up; it was the sensible thing to do, fire risk or not.

“Better take that shower,” Dean reminded him, stirring a flicker of foreboding in Sam’s stomach. “And you’ll have to take another in the morning. I hope you’ve got enough changes of clothes!”

Yep, this heat business was turning out to be a monumental pain in the ass, Sam thought as he trudged to the bathroom, all sorts of emotions and vague anxieties whirling and conflicting in his head. He washed thoroughly, taking much more time than usual, lathering himself from top to toe to make sure every last trace of Dean’s clinging scent was scrubbed away; or at least masked, hopefully, by the chemical smell of the cheap shower gel. He missed that warm apple scent already, but he’d be coming back to it; no way he wanted Dad getting even the smallest whiff. He just hoped the smell hadn’t worked its way into his other clothes. Shouldn’t do, through the heavy fabric of the duffel, surely? He’d keep it closed at the side of the room, well away from Dean, just in case. And the sweat soaked garments could stay in the bathroom until he could get them to a laundrette.

He decided to reserve one set of clothes for going outside, to put on straight after showering, and take off immediately he came back; if he ended up running short of stuff he could wear inside, he could always borrow one of Dean’s t-shirts. They’d be too big for him, but it wasn’t like Dean was going to be wearing them. When he came out of the shower, Dean had stripped down to his boxers, giving Sam an apologetic shrug when he noticed. “It’s hot, man,” was all he said, and Sam understood. They were both mature enough to ignore Dean’s very obvious erection, given the gravity of the situation. Sam figured, if Dean couldn’t help… taking care of that, later on, he could just switch to the other bed for a while, turn his back and pretend he couldn’t hear anything. Wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before; the downside of having to share a room with an older brother who was rapidly turning into a horny teenager.

“Take the pizza box out with you,” Dean demanded as he was ready to leave. “It stinks.”

 

Sam had to steel himself to knock on Dad’s door, but when it opened, Dad sniffed the air and immediately relaxed, giving Sam a nod of approval. 

“Pizza okay?” he asked, seeing the box.

“Yeah, well no, not really,” Sam corrected himself; no point in being polite, Dad needed to know how Dean was doing. At Dad’s raised eyebrow, Sam hurried on, “I mean, I ate some; but Dean wasn’t really interested. Yeah, I know, it’s his favourite too. Seemed like he didn’t like the smell, or something; he asked me to take it out of the room, but I thought I might want some more later, so can I leave it here with you?” Cold, congealed pizza wasn’t Sam’s idea of the best meal in the world, but he also didn’t like going hungry, and it wasn’t like he could just take off to the shops while stuck on Dean duty.

“Sure,” said Dad. “Maybe it’s the hormones, messing with his appetite, or his senses. Did he like the pie?”

“Yeah, he enjoyed that; he had mine too; and he drank the strawberry milk-shake,” said Sam. “He never normally likes that. I think something’s changed in his sense of taste.”

“Noted,” said Dad. “I’ll see if I can find out a bit more before breakfast tomorrow, get you boys something you can both eat. You need anything else for now; the soda?”

“Yeah, he’s really thirsty, his temperature’s through the roof,” Sam acknowledged. “He’ll be okay, won’t he? I mean, it’s like he’s running a fever, it isn’t going to make him ill, is it?”

“I don’t think so,” Dad replied, stroking his chin, “but honestly, I don’t really know. This whole thing has blind-sided me, Sam. I never thought… Never figured I’d need to know so much about Omegas. Guess I’m going to have to ask around a little. We’d better hit the library when this is over, make sure we’re fully prepared for next time.” His meaning was implicit with that inclusive ‘we’; Sam was in this with him, Dad valued his help. Was relying on him like he usually relied on Dean. The thought warmed Sam.

“Oh, Dad?” he suddenly remembered what else he needed to ask. “Can you come back and lock the door after me? Just to make sure Dean can’t sneak out in the middle of the night. He said he wouldn’t, but we should play it safe, right?”

“That’s a good idea,” Dad said approvingly, and Sam decided it didn’t really matter if he let Dad think it was his own, and not Dean’s.

When he got back with the soda, and the lock clicked behind him, it was getting late and the stress of the day had made Sam feel pretty tired. He was actually looking forward to going to bed, for a wonder; to snuggling in next to Dean and having him all to himself. Usually, these days, Dad would send Sam off to bed and take the opportunity (while he was around) to sit up with Dean talking about guns and monsters; Sam always tried to listen in behind the door, but Dad was wise to him and brooked no nonsense. Not that he didn’t talk to Sam about that stuff, too, but Sam was sure he got the toned down version. Not exactly kid friendly, but there had to be a reason Dad wanted to talk to Dean alone, right? 

On nights when Dad wasn’t around; and there were many of those; Dean didn’t insist on Sam heading to bed early, so they’d stay up watching TV together, or Dean would fill him in on some of the things Dad had said (still, Sam suspected, leaving out the goriest details). It was nice, but it wasn’t as cosy as sharing a bed, which took Sam right back to his early childhood, when Dean (he was old enough now to understand) was basically a surrogate parent, a reassuring warmth in the dark. And Dean had never smelled so good back then as he did right now.

Sam remembered his plan to set aside his ‘outdoor’ clothing and changed into a new pair of underpants and t-shirt. He’d stopped wearing pyjamas several years ago; Dad said there was no point in spending the extra money, and Dean would rather be torn apart by black dogs than be seen in anything so uncool, so Sam followed suit. He brushed his teeth then came over to the bed, glancing at Dean to be sure the invitation was still open.

Dean smiled and patted the covers. While Sam was out, he’d rearranged them, removing a blanket and pushing everything else over to one side. He’d heaped them into a sort of cocoon so they didn’t hang too far over the edge and slide off under their own weight. He’d also brought a second pillow, from the other bed. Sam tunnelled in and immediately started to relax; the night had been growing cool, but it was warm in here, and apple scented. Dean’s hip and thigh nudged against him, a solid, comforting presence. His brother reached to turn off the light at the switch beside the bed.

“You get too hot,” Dean said, “just throw off the top cover; or you can switch beds. Shouldn’t be too bad though, with the fan on. I don’t dare open the window, someone walking past could...” Could smell him, yeah. Sam got that.

“You gonna be able to sleep?” Sam asked, stifling a yawn; he sure wouldn’t have that problem himself.

“Maybe; doesn’t matter,” Dean answered. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You not gonna get bored?” Sam asked, concerned. He didn’t like the idea of Dean sitting awake all night, with nothing to do but turn over his worries in the dark. He should have asked Dad for something for Dean to read; then again, he doubted there was much available. Another reason to visit the library; Dad would have to go on his own, this time.

Dean huffed a soft laugh, scrubbing a hand through Sam’s hair. “I said don’t worry about me, kiddo. You get your sleep; you can’t keep a proper guard on me if you’re tired all the time.” He spoke lightly, teasing. “I’m… I’ll be fine. Probably will sleep, but not just yet. Got too much to think about.”

“Planning your escape route?” Sam joked. Dean chuckled and ruffled his hair again.

“M’not goin’ anywhere, Sammy,” he promised. He left his hand in place, resting lightly against the top of Sam’s head, and Sam drifted off to sleep, and dreams laced with apple pie, green eyes, and laughing with his brother.

He woke at some point and sat up, staring into darkness, feeling the surge of adrenaline but wondering muzzily what had put him on edge. Then he realised; the bed beside him was empty. Before panic could claw its way up his throat, he heard the shower running, noticed the thin gleam of light below the edge of the bathroom door. It was okay, Dean was here; his heart stopped hammering. A few tiny sounds leaked past the door and the hiss of the water; he was pretty sure Dean was jerking off in there. Well, good luck to him, it was none of Sam’s business. He settled back into his nest of covers, was drifting back into sleep when Dean climbed in beside him and lay down.

Sam rolled over to face him. “You okay?” he checked, sleepily.

“Sorry, did I wake you? Well I guess that’s the point, isn’t it,” Dean said quietly. “I’m fine. Just needed a cold shower. Ready to sleep now.”

“Night, Dean.” Sam put an arm out, dropped it over his brother’s waist. He felt the scratchy edge of the motel towel wrapped around his hips; Dean’s skin was warm and dry, heating up quickly despite his shower.

Dean sucked in a breath, jerked a little at the contact; lifted Sam’s hand and tucked it back under the covers. Then he put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, over the sheet, massaged it gently. “Night, kiddo,” he whispered. Sam got the message; no snuggling; Dean was probably feeling sensitive again. The apple pie scent was stronger than before, richer; the cinnamon heady and spicy sweet with a top note of burnt sugar. It was making Sam’s mouth water. Much more of this, and he was going to adopt Dean’s pie addiction. Or run away to join a bakery. On this musing, sleep claimed him.

 

Dean’s heat lasted three days in total, but it wasn’t too bad for most of the time; only for the second day, he was restless, pacing the room and avoiding Sam as much as possible. Sam tried to give him his space. Dean kept taking showers; they helped cool him down, that was obvious, but Sam was certain he went in there to jerk off, too. He respected his brother’s privacy, didn’t ask questions. Remembered the ‘nothing personal’ rule. 

Dean insisted Sam sleep in his own bed that night, then spent a large part of it closeted in the bathroom anyway, while Sam lay awake and tried hard not to listen, or to let himself worry at the sounds filtering out beneath the door. Dean sounded almost as if he were in pain. When he came back to bed, he couldn’t seem to lie still; he kept tossing and turning, his breathing fast and ragged, and his scent was nearly overpowering; Sam had to pull his own covers over his head to breathe.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Dean wore nothing but boxers, which he changed frequently, rinsing them out and hanging them over the top of the shower stall to dry so often that when he switched, the material clung damply to his skin, hiding nothing. Sam figured they must be getting wet with sweat, but Dean was clearly embarrassed about it and he didn’t say anything. The morning of the third day, while Dean was in the shower again (good thing he was running them cold, the motel owner would have a heart attack at the power bill otherwise!) Sam couldn’t help noticing that Dean’s bed was soaked through. The scent rose from it, cloying and sickly sweet. Sam ran a finger over the damp patch. It rubbed off on his skin, clinging and too thick for sweat, more like a kind of gel. Sam sniffed, curious; Dean, who had chosen that moment to come out of the shower, made a choking sound and flew across the room, shoving at Sam.

“Dude, seriously?” he hissed, his cheeks flaming with colour. He refused to meet Sam’s eyes. “Don’t – leave that alone,” he said in a more normal tone, but his voice was shaking. “It’s… disgusting.” 

Sam stared. Dean thought he was disgusting? Surely it was all just a natural part of being Omega, nothing to be ashamed of? “Hey, it’s not that bad,” he tried to reassure his brother. “Least it isn’t blood; you know, like a girl’s period?” He recalled that part of sex ed, too.

Dean gave him an odd look, grossed out and incredulous and yet gratified at the same time. “Sam you are _such_ a freak,” he muttered. “But seriously, don’t touch those sheets. They’ll probably have to burn ‘em. And go wash your hands.”

Sam didn’t get what the fuss was about. He had no idea, at the time, what slick was, where it came from; and by the time he did find out, it was fascinating and a turn-on. They slept together again the following night, in Sam’s bed; Dean’s was still unusable, the bedlinen crumpled up in a heap in the corner of the bathroom. It made the tiny room smell like an apple drying barn, mostly fruity but with slight undertones of decay, and it made Sam’s head reel when he went to take a shower or use the john. Fortunately, motels were used to this sort of thing, and the bed had a waterproof undersheet to protect the mattress. Sam was pretty sure they could just wash the sheets, but from the amount of liquid dripping off Dean, he could see they might have had to burn the mattress, otherwise.

Dad didn’t manage to find anything in the local library, but the helpful pharmacist was happy to expound her knowledge, and he learned that Omegas during a heat went off strong smelling proteins like meat or cooked cheese; they tended to like fruit and sugary foods, needing to keep up their fluid and energy levels. He brought Dean pie and pastries and more strawberry milk-shakes, and a bag of apples, which were the only fruit in season. Sam found that hilarious, but he was also hungry for apples, and he and Dean nearly had a fight over them, the only strained words between them despite being cooped up together for three whole days. 

Dad also raided a comic book store, and gave them both plenty of reading material to keep them occupied, although Sam suspected that if Dean had been able to supply himself, his choices wouldn’t have been suitable for Sam’s eyes. He spent a lot of time studying certain of the pictures in the graphic novels which Dad probably hadn’t had time to check thoroughly, though when he peeked, Sam couldn’t see anything that exciting about them. The artist did seem to have a bit of an obsession with boobs, though.

Looking back on it, it was both a weird and wonderful time for Sam, a strange kind of closeted vacation. He got both to spend time with his brother and have Dean be happy to be with him, unusually relaxed and tolerant even when he was struggling at the apex of his heat. It was down-time from the incessant cycle of hunting and training, which was always a bonus. And Dad was abnormally nice to them both, while keeping his distance, which suited Sam perfectly. 

With what he knows now, Sam thinks maybe it’s no wonder he formed such a strong bond with Dean; kept so close together for those three days and nights, soaking in the atmosphere of ripening Omega hormones, his brother must have imprinted on his budding Alpha instincts. The literature suggests that Omega care givers spend as little time as possible with their charges during heats, and that these duties should be strictly relegated to other Omegas or, failing that, Typical females; not young boys. Dad hadn’t known this at the time, and anyway, they had limited options. Besides, he can’t in all fairness blame the pheromones, not entirely; he and Dean had been unusually close before then, with the circumstances of their lives. 

Who knows, maybe in another reality; one without the Alpha-Omega dynamic, if such a thing existed; he and Dean might still have developed the rapport that exists between them, tying them closer than most siblings, than best friends, even than most married couples. He hopes so; whether it could have been avoided or not, he feels sad at the thought of there being a Sam and Dean somewhere who don’t have this special bond. It’s got them into trouble more times than he can count, nearly destroyed the world even; but it’s also helped to save it and whatever Death thinks, Sam’s pretty sure the books are balanced. He has no regrets; would change nothing, even if he could (well, except to win them both a reprieve from Hell, if that were even possible) and if there’s one thing he’s certain of in life, it’s that Dean feels the same way. They’re inseparable, as right together as apples and cinnamon, and however far they might stray, they always come back to one another in the end, as though joined by an invisible, elastic cord.

Alpha and Omega, his Dean; and _his_ Sam. Gabriel really did throw a monkey wrench into God’s plans with that little trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet that last sentence got you thinking..! :D More on that later. For now and years to come, they don't even know that Angels exist. Sam's 'hindsight' viewpoint is pretty much from 'now' in canon, when he's found out a lot about why things are the way they are.
> 
> Oh yes, ABO dynamics and Angels are interconnected in this 'Verse. Not in a weird way.
> 
> The story of Sam's Presentation comes next. If it seems odd or unfair that both stories are told from Sam's POV, think about the turmoil Dean's mind must be in throughout this whole story. I needed a level-headed narrator, and that was Sam.


End file.
